


Sorta Like Family... If We Have To Be

by astrild_niflheim



Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Family, Fluff, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2017-12-31 21:17:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrild_niflheim/pseuds/astrild_niflheim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two people who are polar opposites to each other discover an unimaginable bond.  But mostly, that’s in the background.  This is the story of how that bond happened - nearly three hundred years before either were born.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This story is primarily a Sherlock story. There will be a glimpse of the Star Trek universe at the beginning of each chapter, and a bit more at the end, but the main story is Johnlock, though the main focus is Spock and McCoy, oddly enough. Sherlock will be OOC, but it's my idea of how he could act after being gone and missing John.
> 
> I have most of the story written, but I'm posting one chapter at a time whenever I can get online. I've posted before, over a year ago, of FF.net under the same name, but it was all Sherlock, this is my first with any Star Trek, so sorry if I don't get the characters just right. That said, I'd love a beta if anyone wants to take a look at the rest of this before I post it :)

 

　

Chapter One

“When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever is left, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”

McCoy’s head snapped up and he looked at the infuriating Vulcan, startled.

“What did you just say, Spock?”

\---------

 

He looked… happy.

Sherlock put his untouched glass of champagne down on a random table and made his way over to the grinning bride and groom. They had just finished their first dance and were accepting more congratulations as other couples took to the dance floor.

“There he his!” John beamed up at him. “The best man! The best looking one in a tux here, putting me to shame, that’s for sure.”

Mary and Sherlock both smiled at him fondly as a very happy, and somewhat drunk, Dr. Watson grinned at the world at large.

“And I think he’s done,” Sherlock drawled and turned his attention to the bride. “No matter, I’ve come to ask for a dance from Mrs. Watson.”

“Oh, I’d be delighted!”

Mary easily untangled herself from the group that had surrounded her and her new husband and allowed Sherlock to lead her to the dance floor. They took their positions as a new song started and then began to waltz across the room. Mary chewed her bottom lip for a moment before finally asking what had been on her mind all day.

“Are you alright, Sherlock?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” he replied, his tone almost snappish but clearly controlled.

“I’m not sure I would be.”

“Well, that’s the difference between you and I.”

“I suppose,” Mary had learned early on that Sherlock’s rudeness wasn’t necessarily meant as an insult. And if it was, there was no use getting indignant over it. “Honestly, when he went to talk to you last week, I expected the wedding to be cancelled.”

Sherlock held his face still, a mask of neutrality falling over him as naturally as his coat. He remembered that day far too well. The admissions, confessions even. John, _his_ John, with tears in his eyes and pleading in his voice, promising that what they had could be enough for him. That he could be content. Sherlock didn’t want him content. He wanted him to be happy. He made his own promises, and sent John back to Mary - the least objectionable woman he had ever brought home. He might even approve of her.

“There was no need to be concerned,” he said without inflection. “John and I have a solid friendship and partnership. You have made it clear that you support him in sharing my cases. Our association will be fine.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Finally, Sherlock looked down at her, this golden haired woman who was taking John from Baker Street. Yes, he would still be around for cases, some of them at least, but it wouldn’t be the same. He let his mask slip, frowning at her and allowing her to see the conflict in his eyes.

“I know what you’re worried about, but you needn’t be,” he all but hissed, his grip on her hand and waist tightening before he got control of himself again and relaxed. “You are the love of John’s life. Never for a moment think otherwise. He fancied himself… it doesn’t matter. There was nothing for him to be torn between. He wants a family, white picket fence, everything. He won’t find any of that on Baker Street.”

Mary searched his face for a moment and sighed. She forced a smile for her husband’s dearest friend.

“You do look dashing in your tux,” she said. “Molly’s been eyeing you all evening.”

“Please,” Sherlock scoffed, easily accepting the change in subject. “Molly eyes me even when I’m completely frazzled, having just beat a corpse with a riding crop.”

\---------------

 

John managed to grab Sherlock before the couple departed for their honeymoon. He held him by the arms, slightly sad eyes searching his face. For his part, Sherlock put on a grin and clasped John’s arms in return.

“You better get going. Don’t want to miss your flight.”

“I’ll call when I get back.”

“I know.”

And he was gone.

_Just like that,_ Sherlock thought. _For the best._

Wandering some distance from the rest of the well-wishers cheering as the car sped off, Sherlock pulled out a cigarette and lit it, stopping and leaning against a wall as he inhaled and slowly exhaled.

“Those things will be the death of you, little brother.”

“Mmmm,” was his only reply to Mycroft’s unwelcome intrusion. He closed his eyes as he inhaled again.

“Honestly, I don’t know why you didn’t stop this from happening,” Mycroft continued, knowing he wouldn’t be completely ignored. “He was prepared to say goodbye to Mary and spend the rest of his life with you. I don’t understand how she can stand being second choice.”

“She wasn’t second choice,” Sherlock snapped, done pretending to ignore his brother. He threw down the remains of his cigarette and stomped it out. “I faked my death and stayed away for so long so that John would be safe. I was gone, she was here. He thought I was dead and she was a comfort. He fell in love with her. He should be with her.”

“Sherlock, he loved you first.”

“No he didn’t!” he shouted, rounding on the older man. “His best friend throws himself off a roof and suddenly he realizes he was in love with him? After a lifetime of heterosexuality? Please. It was the shock. He loves me, he’s not _in_ love with me.”

“No need to be so dramatic,” Mycroft admonished. “And I think you’re wrong, dear brother, very wrong.”

“I’m not, _dear brother._ The most important thing right now is John’s happiness. Mary makes him happy.”

“The most important thing, Sherlock, is family. You are _my_ family and your well being is paramount to me. John could have seen to your well being. John could have been family.”

“Perhaps. But I’ve learned to not be so selfish since I’ve met him. He could have been my family. I couldn’t give him the family he wants, though.”

“Really, you must stop selling yourself short. This new attitude of yours is disturbing.”

Mycroft tapped on his phone and a black sedan pulled to the curb. The driver got out and opened the door.

“Would you like a ride, Sherlock?”

“No,” he answered, turning to walk away. “Oh, and get your bloody cameras out of my flat.”

\-----------

 

“You’re a million miles away.”

“What? Oh, yes, sorry.”

John rolled over onto his side to face Mary on the bed. There was still quiet a bit of room between them on the huge bed and with a laugh they had to scoot towards the middle to be closer to each other. They were in the most beautiful suite of the poshest hotel either one had ever stayed in, courtesy of Sherlock Holmes.

“Bed’s a bit large,” Mary giggled.

“Yes,” John agreed with a giggle of his own. “I half expect Sherlock to turn up, asking us why we thought he got such a big room. Did I tell you, during the first few weeks of sharing a flat, he invited himself on a date with me? He had ‘kindly’ reserved tickets for us. When I went up to the window to get them, instead of two there were three and he was standing behind us! The git.”

“Yes, you have,” Mary smiled, all be it a bit tightly. “You know, I’m almost afraid to ask this - I wasn’t going to ask, not yet, I didn’t want him to be a subject during our honeymoon but I see that he already is - but what happened when you went to your old place to talk to him last week? One minute you’re tearfully telling me you think you love him and are not sure we should get married, the next you’re telling me you know you love me and we should get married. This is probably a conversation we should have had _before_ we got married, but what happened? What did he say?”

_“John? John, what’s wrong?”_

_“God, Sherlock, I don’t know how to say this.”_

_“Perhaps you shouldn’t.”_

_“Sherlock…”_

_“John, go home. Go home to your fiancé. Go home to Mary.”_

_“Ah, deducing me as easily as you breath. Then you already know what I’m going to say.”_

_“And it’s best left unsaid. You’re nervous about getting married. Me showing up and suddenly announcing that I’m alive didn’t help. You’re in shock.”_

_“No, I’m not.”_

_“Really? Please!”_

_“Sherlock, if you’d just listen to me, I think -”_

_“I know what you think, John. You think you’re willing to give everything up, all of your dreams for a wife and children, just to stay with me. You missed me and now you want to make up for my absence, that is all. We will still be friends even with you married.”_

_“Damnit, Sherlock! Stop running your mouth and listen! I love you!”_

_“No, John. Not in the way you think you do. I could never be to you what Mary is. You only think you love me. You know you love her.”_

_“Sherlock, you don’t understand…”_

_“I died for you! I died so you could live, find this woman, get married and have a family! Don’t tell me I don’t understand! I understand all too well! I sacrificed everything for you! If you don’t marry that woman, you’ll resent me for the rest of your life and I might as well have actually hit the pavement!”_

“He didn’t understand, Mary. He thought he did, but… I don’t know. Maybe he did understand more than I’m giving him credit for. He was right about me being certain of my love for you while I’ve been trying to accept my love for him for so long. It’s not fair that it took me thinking he was dead to finally accept my feelings for him.”

“I should be angry at you about this,” Mary sighed, “but I knew what I was getting into when Sherlock showed up, not a crack in his skull. Anyone with eyes could see how you still loved him. But I could also see that you loved me just as much. Have I made a mistake?”

“No.” John pulled her into his arms and sighed. “No, Mary, I think I made the mistake of going to him like that and potentially hurting him. As hard as it is to handle, I love both of you, in slightly different ways. But he was right. He and I couldn’t have children, not in a normal way. We couldn’t give them a normal life. I want that, and I want it with you. In the end, as much as I love him, I love you more.”

Mary wasn’t so sure about that. She had seen the sadness John tried to hide. But she knew he did love her and that he would be a good husband and an excellent father. She allowed him to pull her closer and kiss her, promising herself that she would make him forget he was in love with two people.

For his part, John pushed all other thoughts aside and allowed himself to be lost in passion, but not before thinking that if he made the wrong choice by saying ‘I do‘, three hearts could be broken.

To Be Continued....


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for terminal illness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not having internet at home right now means I don't get on as often as I'd like, so I'm going to go ahead and post two chapters. The kudos have been very encouraging, thank you. Oh, and I suck at summaries, so no chapter summaries unless I think something might be triggering.

“It is something an ancestor of mine used to say.”

“A Vulcan ancestor?”

“No, Human.  My mother’s ancestor.  Doctor, are you well?  You have become pale.”

“Bones?” Jim got up from the captain’s chair, their problems temporarily forgotten, as he placed a steadying hand on the small of Leonard’s back.

“It’s alright, Jim,” the doctor assured him as he got a hold of himself.  “We don’t have time for this.”

“Bones…”

“I’ll tell you after we’ve handled Nero, if there’s anything to tell.  I promise.”

\--------------------

_Bored -SH_

**_Is that still my problem? -JW_ **

_Yes -SH_

**_Don’t see how -JW_ **

_I have your gun and the wall’s eyeing me funny. -SH_

**_Your sense of humor has gotten really strange -JW_ **

_And it’s all your fault. -SH_   
_Still bored! -SH_   
_JOHN! -SH_

**_You really do have my gun!  When did you get it? -JW_ **

_Last week at dinner. -SH_

**_How? I could have sworn you never left the front of the house. -JW_ **

_Again, you see but you do not observe.  When’s Mary going to make that dish with the little pearl onions again? -SH_

**_I don’t know.  Would feeding you help your boredom?  I could take you to lunch. -JW_ **   
**_Sherlock?  Do you want to meet? -JW_ **   
**_Sherlock? -JW_ **

_Since when has food ever been a distraction? -SH_

**_You were asking about food.  It did distract you. -JW_ **

_No, it distracted you.  I’m still bored! -SH_   
_Check the blog, John, find me a case! -SH_

**_Alright, but come over.  You don’t eat unless I feed you. -JW_ **

_There you are, getting distracted by food again.  Does it bother Mary how often you think with your stomach? -SH_

**_Sheeerloooock…. -JW_ **

_Fine, I’m on my way.  But you might want to make something light.  You’re getting a bit pudgy.  -SH_

**_I am not, you skinny git. -JW_ **   
**_And Sherlock? Bring my gun back. -JW_ **

\---------------

“Get in here, sit, eat.”

“Come in, Sherlock.  Nice to see you, Sherlock.  Welcome to my home, Sherlock,” Sherlock sing-songed sarcastically as he walked through the door and started poking at a sandwich John had placed on the coffee table for him.

“Don’t give me that.  You’ve been here almost as much as you’ve been in your own flat in the six months Mary and I have lived here.  You haven’t been a guest in a long time.  Poor woman gave up on you going home to do your thinking and put a music stand in the window over looking the garden.”

“Yes, I had noticed, very kind of her.  A much more gracious host than her cur of a husband.  A turkey sandwich and glass of milk.  Really, John?”

“I did offer to take you out.  Now sit on the sofa and eat your damn sandwich.”

Without another word of complaint, Sherlock did as he was told.  John sat in the arm chair to the side of the sofa and pulled out his laptop.

“Ok, I found a few possibilities on the blog.  There’s a kid missing a dog, a woman missing a husband, a woman missing her Terrier, a woman who wants her father’s antique pocket watch found, a kid who thinks his brother’s been replaced by an alien and a little girl who lost her puppy somewhere in the park and hopes we can find him.”

“You actually saw fit to mention the kid with the alien brother?”

“Honestly, I just read all of them.  You’ve been back for nearly a year, but everyone’s still getting used to you being right.”

“Story of my life.”

“Stop talking with your mouth full.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and motioned for John to pass over the laptop.  He pushed aside his half eaten sandwich and put the computer down in front of him.  He quickly scrolled through the blogs before smiling in triumph.

“We’ll take the first one,” he announced, typing a response to the kid with the missing dog.

“Really?  The missing dog?”

“One of the missing dogs, John!  You read them, didn’t you pay attention?  All of those dogs go missing in the same week from the same park!  It’s a dog-napping ring.  The others are rubbish.  I am emailing the kid with the alien brother, though.  Drugs.  Probably dealing as well as using.  Alright, let’s go!”  Sherlock bounced to his feet and headed towards the door.

“Why the boy?  Why not the woman with the missing dog?”

“Really, John,” Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes and turning back to him.  “The woman is likely to be overly emotional about her missing purse dog.  She was undoubtedly not paying attention in the first place so she didn’t see very much and what she did see is going to be obscured by her assumptions of what is and isn’t important.  Children are refreshingly free of such assumptions.  They believe, rightly so, that everything is important and, being naturally curious, are more observant.  As for the boy in the first message, he’s fourteen.  Young enough to for everything I’ve said to apply, but old enough for us to meet with him without being accused of being pedophiles.  We’re certainly not meeting with a seven year old girl.”

“Alright, I get all that,” John laughed, following Sherlock out the door.  “But don’t think someone wouldn’t accuse us of pedophilia for meeting with a fourteen year old boy.”

“Perhaps, but he’s more likely able to defend our virtue!”

\-------------------------

“You should have seen him Mary.  It was just like old times!  There he was in a park wearing an expensive suit, crawling all over the ground and through bushes, that magnifying glass in his hand.  And he figured it out!  No matter how many times, Mary, it’s just as amazing as that day we first met and he deduced me within moments.”

“Sounds like you had a wonderful time.”

John turned towards his wife at the strained tone of her voice.  He quickly finished changing into his night clothes and rushed to help her pull back the covers of their bed.

“I’m sorry, love.  I’ve been going on and on about my afternoon.  How was your day?  Didn’t you have a special meeting today?”

“Yes, actually, but not at the office.”

Mary propped her pillows up and sat on the bed, pulling her knees against her chest.  Concerned about her sudden protective posture and allusions to meetings that had nothing to do with work, John followed her lead and sat next to her.  After a moment, he grew more concerned and pulled her against him.

“Mary, what’s going on?”

“I’ve been seeing a doctor.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“Silly,” she laughed, but the laugh sounded like it was covering a sob.  “No, about a month ago, I thought I might be pregnant.  But when I went to the doctor, I wasn’t.  However, he found a mass in my abdomen.”

“Wait, a month ago?  Why didn’t you tell me then?”

“I just… I don’t know.  I was worried, but I didn’t want you to be worried.”

“The three days you happily agreed for me to run out to Sussex with Sherlock on that case,” he said with dawning horror, looking down at where Mary rested against his chest.  He pushed her gently away from him so he could see her face, maintaining a hold on her shoulders.  “When I got back, you didn’t want me touching you.  You said you had a stomach bug.  You had a biopsy.”

“Yes.”

He searched her face.  He was no Sherlock Holmes, but he knew his wife.  Keeping this from him so he could be happy for as long as possible was just like her.  The look of fear on her face was not.

“What did the doctor say today, Mary.”

“Well, he wasn’t happy that I hadn’t brought you again.”

“If I were your doctor, I wouldn’t have been all that happy, either.  What did he say, Mary.”

“He wanted to operate to remove the mass when he first found it, but I wouldn’t let him.  To completely remove it, he’d have to remove my uterus.”

“Dear lord, Mary, why didn’t you tell me?” John’s voice was raising without his knowledge.  His hands were gripping her shoulders harder.  He was panicking.  He knew what was coming, he knew it.  “Why didn’t you?  You should have had it removed when it was first found!”

“It might have been nothing!” she shouted back, John’s reaction making her nervous.  “And then what?  We’ve over reacted and then I can’t have a baby!  And then, John?  What would keep you here?  What would stop you from going off with Sherlock permanently?”

“The fact that I love you,” he replied sadly, his voice lowering and his hands gentling.  He pulled her to him as tears ran down his face.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so, so sorry.  This is all my fault.  I would not have left you if we couldn’t have children.  I wouldn’t have stopped loving you.  We would have gone on with our life.  I… I…. I don’t know what to say Mary.  I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” she replied, calming down and pushing away from him so they could look at each other again.  “The doctor confirmed what I was sure of.  A month made no difference one way or another.  I’m dying.”

\---------------

**_Not going to be available for awhile -JW_ **

_Why? -SH_

**_Mary’s sick - JW_ **

_And?  You’re not telling me everything. -SH_

**_Cancer -JW_ **

\----------------

John, of course, didn’t accept that Mary was dying.  They would have the tumor removed and she would go through chemo therapy.  After the battle plans were laid but before the assault began, there was an unexpected knock on the Watson’s front door.  John opened it to the sight of Sherlock and the smell of Mary’s favorite Thai takeaway.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Sherlock admonished before John could say a word, pushing past him and into the sitting room.  “We’re family.”

Without a word, John took the bag from Sherlock and began to unpack it.  He couldn’t even look at his dearest friend.  He wasn’t sure how he would react.  It was Mary who threw her arms around Sherlock and wept into his chest, grateful beyond words he was there for her.  Sherlock had had the sense to wear a t-shirt.

John looked up at him then, touched at how his friend was holding his wife, allowing her to hug him.  He still didn’t know all of what Sherlock went through when he was gone, but he was more sure than ever that it had made him a better man.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter felt a bit forced to me, though the whole story feels contrived LOL. Can't be helped, if I didn't get this out of my head I would have been thinking about it for the rest of my life! Anyhow, forgive me if John seems like a jerk sometimes, he's really not, he just has issues explaining how he feels. Mary and Sherlock get it, though.

Chapter Three

“Ok, you gonna tell me now?”

It was over and after everything was said and done, McCoy was actually surprised that Kirk remembered there was something to be told.

 _Damn genius kid_ , he thought as he unpacked his bag in their bedroom. They were staying in an apartment in San Francisco while the _Enterprise_ was being repaired and refitted.

“Here,” Leonard finally responded when he found what he was looking for. He tossed a data chip to the captain.

“What’s this?” Jim asked.

“It’s a bunch of journals from an ancestor of mine from the early twenty-first century. He was a doctor that followed this detective around London and chronicled his cases. Some of them are pretty wild.”

“You have an ancestor from London?”

“Yeah, jackass. Where was your family three hundred years ago?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” Jim grinned, plugging the chip into his PADD. “ ‘A Study in Pink’? Sounds kinky.”

“Hardly, you infant,” Leonard groused, rolling his eyes.

After a few moments, in which Leonard was pretty sure Jim had read the entire account, the younger man looked up with dawning comprehension.

“So Spock’s ancestor, you think he was friends with your ancestor? Weird.”

“Oh, I think it’s weirder than that. I have some of his personal journals.”

\-------------------

 

“John?”

John bolted awake. He never was a heavy sleeper, but in the past few months, he barely ever entered a deep sleep. Mary so rarely slept anymore. He was always on alert in case she was in distress.

“Are you alright? Do you need anything?” he was asking even as he rolled over towards her.

“No, I just needed to talk to you.”

“Alright,” John smiled as he pulled her to lay on his shoulder. “What did you need to talk to me about?”

“Sherlock.”

John frowned slightly, thinking of their friend who was currently asleep (or not) in their spare bedroom. When it became clear that Mary’s treatments just weren’t working, he had practically moved in. He didn’t insinuate himself in the couple’s time together; he did laundry, dishes, the shopping. John would even forget he was there until a cup of tea was quietly placed in front of him. It was odd, even for Sherlock, and John still sometimes couldn’t believe this was his friend behaving in such a giving, helpful way. He was tempted more than once to ask him who he was and what he had done with Sherlock Holmes, but mostly he was just grateful.

“Is everything alright? Do you want him to go back to Baker Street? I’m sure he’d understand.”

“No, no, I’m glad he’s here. He’s been unusually helpful,” she laughed quietly. “Actually, he’s been an absolute rock and I’m not sure what I would have done without him. You have no idea, John, of the times he’s found me, almost breaking. Ready to give up. He doesn’t say a word, usually, just picks up his violin or sits by me. He’s been incredible.”

“I didn’t know. I’m glad.”

“Honestly, he’s nothing like I expected from your stories about him before the Fall.”

“No, he’s nothing like I’ve expected, either.”

Mary shifted, tucking her head into the hollow of her husband’s neck. Her hair was growing back since they stopped the chemo treatments, but she still kept it covered in a soft scarf, even while asleep. It didn’t take much to make her feel cold anymore.

“Will you grieve me terribly?”

“Mary, I still don’t want to admit that there will be a reason to grieve… but yes. And please don’t ask me to remarry. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do this again.”

“I’m selfish enough, that I wasn’t going to. No, I don’t want you making a life with someone new. You have two loves in your life right now. You’re losing me, but Sherlock’s still here. I want you to go on with him.”

“Mary…”

“No, John, listen to me. I was so jealous sometimes. I felt like I had been chosen only because I could have children and Sherlock, being a man, can’t.”

“God, I never meant to make you feel that way. I expressed that so badly…”

“You did, but I came to realize that you had to make that distinction. You love us both, just as much. You needed something to allow you to choose. Well, now it’s moot, and after I’m gone, I want you to move back to Baker Street. I don’t want you taking a ‘proper’ time to grieve by living here. I don’t want you turning this place into a shrine. I want you to pick out a couple of things of mine you want to keep and get rid of the rest. Get all of your things out of here and let my family have a free for all to take what they want. Send the rest to a charity shop or the tip, I don’t care. Then sell the house. Then… live your life with Sherlock. Raise a family with him.”

“Mary, he doesn’t even think I truly love him. And a family?”

“You can convince him. Hell, I think he may already be convinced. I think some of his attention is guilt over getting you in the end.”

“Guilt? Sherlock? Don’t think so.”

“It could be yet another change, so yes, guilt. As for a family, why not? Lot’s of gay couples raise children. You can adopt or hire a surrogate. I know you wanted a ‘normal’ life, but John, you haven’t had a normal life since you met Sherlock. What fun would ‘normal’ be? You two would be wonderful parents together, and you could give children an extraordinary life.”

“I don’t know. Sherlock, a dad?”

“Sherlock _should_ be a dad. And so should you.”

Neither said any more, just lay together, comfortable in each other’s arms. After awhile, Mary drifted off to sleep, holding onto John. It was John’s turn to lay awake, staring up at the ceiling, thinking of a future he didn’t want to have to think about. He allowed the tears to fall since no one could see.

\--------------

 

When she went, it was quietly, as she slept. She had been having trouble breathing without assistance and had been getting more and more tired. Walking across the room would exhaust her.

She had gone down for a nap and when John had checked on her an hour later, he hadn’t come back out of their room. Sherlock, a lead weight in his stomach, had gone into the room to find John on his knees beside the bed, face buried in the blankets, hands clutching one of hers, shoulders shaking with silent tears.

Without a word, Sherlock left John to his grief and retrieved the binder that Mary had put together, turning it to the first page where it listed what was to be done if she died at home. He started making phone calls.

\------------------

 

“I have loaded your last box. What’s next?”

“Um, I’m leaving the keys in the mail box for Mary’s sister. Her family’s scandalized by how quickly I’m leaving the house and getting rid of everything, by the way, even though Mary told them herself that’s exactly what she wanted. The realtor’s going to be here on Monday to take a look, so, Friday? We need to get rid of the rest of the stuff by then. That should give her family enough time to take what they want. So, other than that, I need to send out thank you cards to everyone who has sent flowers, don’t roll your eyes, and helped in other ways. That includes Mycroft, huffing isn’t going to get you out of helping me, for loaning us the vehicle to help with the move.”

“I could have rented one.”

John smiled as they left the house and climbed into the car. He didn’t look back at the house. He had made his peace. He turned to Sherlock who had insisted on driving.

“He beat you to it. You know, he’s helping you, too. Or did you not want me to move back?”

Sherlock pulled away from the curb and away from John and Mary’s street. He kept his eyes focused on the road.

“You know I do.”

John reached over and gently laid his hand on Sherlock’s leg. The detective didn’t startle. He wasn’t surprised at all. John wasn’t the only one Mary had spoken to about love and the future.

Sherlock dropped his left hand from the steering wheel and took John’s. He held him tight all the way home.

\-----------------

 

“You going to help me move my things back upstairs or have I gotten all I’m going to get out of you today?”

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked up from where he was reclining on the sofa, fingers steepled beneath his chin.

“You’re going to move back upstairs?”

“Um, yeah. Unless another bedroom has magically appeared down here.”

“Oh.”

“Sherlock, where did you expect me to go?”

Sherlock’s suddenly pink cheeks confirmed what John thought he was asking. Sherlock was deflecting, however, before John could say anything, rolling his eyes and settling back down into his ‘thinking’ posture.

“I know I’m supposed to be moving right on with my life, but it’s just too soon for me for that,” John admitted. “I want to, but I need time.”

Sherlock didn’t respond. He was so still he didn’t even seem to be breathing.

“Besides, you’re the only man I’ve ever been involved with. I’m not sure what to do with you!”

John grinned as Sherlock’s face turned bright red. He knew he’d get a reaction. He picked up the first box and dashed upstairs, feeling lighter than he had in month’s.

\----------------------

 

“John, we need to talk.”

A month had passed since John had moved back into Baker Street and the two flatmates had eased back into a routine, somewhat. It had been a little awkward at first, but soon they had established a new relationship that included casual touching when passing by each other and hand holding when sitting together.

“Alright,” John replied, a little confused, putting down his news paper and sitting forward in his chair as Sherlock sat in his. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I would like you to start sleeping in my bedroom.”

“Hmmm,” John nodded. “I suppose someone should sleep in there.”

“You have really got to stop teasing,” Sherlock rolled his eyes and flopped back into his chair. “This is serious!”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. Yes, I suppose I am ready to move forward, but what are you expecting if I start sleeping with you? Literally.”

“Just the literal. I don’t know what you’re wanting out of this in the long run, but I doubt I’ll ever be interested in a more physical relationship. I really don’t have a very high opinion of sex. It takes far too much time that could be spent more productively.”

“I’m sorry, it takes too much time?” John was honestly confused. Sherlock was clearly fine with intimacy, he had to know that if they shared a bed things would progress from hand holding to cuddling. He seemed to be encouraging that move. Sex wasn’t too far from that.

“Yes, yes,” Sherlock responded, hands flailing, looking up at the ceiling. “I’ve seen what it takes, especially living with you. You spent so much time thinking about sex, wondering when you were going to get a leg over again, working towards accomplishing that goal -”

“Sherlock,” John interrupted him, unable to completely keep from laughing. “You’re talking about when I was single and had to work for it. When you’re in a relationship you don’t spend all that time thinking about it and working for it. Generally, unless you’re having a row, you can just roll over in bed and -”

Sherlock’s head snapped forward and he made eye contact again with a very familiar look of stern foreboding.

“I suggest you don’t try and pull that with me, you oversexed Lothario!”

John stopped trying not to laugh and let out a burst of giggles, falling back into his chair and clutching his stomach.

“Who talks like that? You sound like a Victorian maiden!”

A short pause to look at John with disdain, but then Sherlock couldn’t contain it any more either. He joined John in his laughter, shaking his head.

“You know what I mean,” he finally got out after the giggling fit had died down.

“No, I don’t think I do. Really, you never want to even try more than holding each other?”

“John…”

“I don’t mean full on sex. I don’t think I can handle that, either. But what about kissing? Are we ever going to move to that point? I really like kissing. I would like to kiss you goodnight, and good morning, and hello, and goodbye. Honestly, I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.”

Sherlock pressed his lips together, narrowing his eyes at John. With a nod of his head, he stood up and held his hand out to John. John accepted his assistance to stand and stood facing him, only a hand’s breadth of space between them, hands still clasped.

“I’m willing to try,” Sherlock announced stoically. John raised an eyebrow at the lack of enthusiasm, but decided against saying anything. Instead he lifted his free hand to the back of Sherlock’s neck and pulled him down as he stretched up to meet him.

Their lips pressed together, dry and chaste. They pulled apart briefly then moved back in, lips slightly moistened and moving subtly against each other. When they pulled back again they both had small smiles on their faces.

“Fine,” Sherlock said with no venom or snark. “I’m fine with that. But we’re not going to go further.”

“Understood.”

\----------------

 

**Three Weeks Later**

 

Molly Hooper was aware of the new relationship between John and Sherlock. She would be the first to admit that she wasn’t surprised, though a little jealous. A girl could hope, and she had hoped for years. But, they were both her friends and she was truly happy for them.

“Alright Sherlock, got that liver I promised you,” she exclaimed happily as she walked into the morgue…

… only to drop her tray and scream. She was happy for them but she was not willing to see them with their shirts rucked up, trousers opened, and pressed against each other on one of the exam tables, passionately kissing, one of John‘s hands down the back of Sherlock‘s pants, gripping his bum as the taller man thrust against him. At her entrance, they scrambled to right their clothing, both blushing red.

“This is not the place for that,” Molly chastised them. “No one gets laid in my morgue!”

“Molly, we’re soooo sorry,” John stammered.

“You were taking too long, I got bored,” Sherlock shrugged, the color in his cheeks belying his bland expression.

“I don’t care, Sherlock Holmes,” she hissed, poking him in the chest with her index finger. “From now on, you keep your trousers on around me!”

“I never thought I’d hear that,” he smirked, his composure completely returned.

“Out!” she screamed.

“Sherlock, let’s get out of here before she throws that liver at us. Let’s go!”

The two men ran from the morgue, laughing. Once they were gone, Molly finally let herself laugh at their antics. It was good to have them back, even if their inappropriateness was no longer confined to giggling at crime scenes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to put this at the beginning, but I also realize this getting together bit was probably a bit rushed. I didn't really have any ideas on how to cover the time between and the story is really about Spock and McCoy even thought their parts will remain fairly brief. I know, weird. This whole thing may end up only making sense to me LOL.


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m playing fast and loose with Original Trek timelines, but the reboot sure did, so why not! I’m pretty sure the Eugenics War was supposed to take place in the 1990’s, but that doesn’t work with Sherlock’s timeline, so for my universe it takes place in the late 2020’s, early 2030’s. And no, there are no spoilers for STID, but the war does come up later.

“Come on in!” Jim grinned as he opened the door for Spock and Uhura. “Bones is just getting the coffee ready and he’ll be right in. Have a seat.”

Uhura sat down on the couch Jim indicated, but Spock bypassed the living room and headed straight for the kitchen, presumably to help McCoy carry out the tray with the four mugs, sugar and creamer. Normally the other two would comment on such unusual behavior - he’d readily help if Jim were in the kitchen but he avoided getting cornered in a small room alone with the doctor he usually argued with - but over the past few days he and McCoy had been comming each other about McCoy’s ancestor’s journals, and the fact that Spock was also in possession of handed down journals.

“Here we are,” Leonard announced cheerfully, for him, as they brought in the coffee. “Nyota, dear, I have that mocha creamer you like. None for you, Hobgoblin, it’s real chocolate.”

Spock tilted his head in acknowledgement, mentally noting that the nickname had lost all of its bite. Everyone was quiet for a few minutes as they helped themselves to the coffee, then it was small talk, discussing what each couple had been doing over shore leave and if they had seen the other members of their crew. Finally, Leonard put his mug down, pulled out his PADD and leaned forward.

“Alright, I can’t stand the suspense anymore. Hand over your journals, here’s mine.”

The two exchanged chips and plugged them into their own PADDs, Jim leaning closer to Leonard so he could see and Uhura doing the same with Spock. After a few minutes, they all looked up at each other again. Leonard had a large grin on his face, one only Jim normally saw and not often.

“They’re different from the ones I have, but they’re clearly from the same author.”

“Indeed, doctor. It would seem you and I share a common ancestor.”

“You have yet to really explain that,” Uhura broke in. “Ok, Len’s ancestor is this Doctor John Watson, who solved crimes with Spock’s Human ancestor, Sherlock Holmes. And, from what I’ve read of Holmes’ private journals, the two men eventually became life partners and ended up sharing an intense sexual relationship once they both got past their different issues with sex. But how do you have a common ancestor? We still can’t successfully impregnate a Human male and I don’t think we had the technology to combine the DNA of two men to create a baby back then.”

“There is more to this story,” Spock acknowledged. “There was a woman whom they worked closely with. She is mentioned a few times in the case journals, but it is from their private journals that we really know anything about her. She is our common ancestor.”

\-------------

“Sherlock, did you create these files on my computer?”

Holmes looked up briefly from his microscope, quickly raked his eyes down John’s legs and then went back to his research.

“I created files on your computer, I don’t know if the ones you’re looking at are the ones I created. However, if you didn’t create them, and no one has broken into the flat specifically to work on your laptop, then they must be the ones I created.”

John rolled his eyes and tilted his head to look over at his distracted lover. He tilted his head more to get a glimpse of the man’s arse where he was bent over his microscope. John shook his head and opened the first journal. After two hours he had a better understanding of the difficulties Sherlock had gone through after the Fall, as well as how he felt about John and their now year old relationship.

“You chronicled your time you were away? I hadn’t seen these here before.”

“I had been thinking about putting it all down, getting it off my hard drive,” Sherlock replied, having moved from his research to the sofa to consider the results in the time that John had been reading. “I didn’t want my recollections permanently deleted. You read my private journals? Without permission?”

“They were on my private laptop, without permission,” John replied, unapologetically.

“Mine was in our room and you were asleep.”

“You did all this in one night?”

“Yes.”

John contemplated the computer in front of him for a moment before turning back to his partner.

“And what about the entries about us? Have you deleted these memories as well?”

“No,” Sherlock said, looking up at John quickly. “I’ll never delete that. It’s just, once I started putting that part of my life on file, I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to chronicle the good things, too. I wanted to follow up my morose thoughts of missing you with how I felt about having you.”

“I’d say,” John blushed. “If you ever decide to give up detective work, you have a promising career as an erotica writer.”

Sherlock shot John a wicked grin.

“Want to go to the bedroom?”

“I say I just lock the door and you stay on the sofa,” John countered.

“Wonderful. Something new to write about.”

\------------------

“Sherlock?”

“Hmmm.”

“I’d like to have a baby with you.”

“Hmmm. Personally, I was thinking two. You father the first one, I’ll father the next.”

“But what about the mother? How are we going to handle that part?”

“Research.”

\-----------------

“We could hire a surrogate that will be artificially inseminated. So the carrier will also be the mother.”

“I don’t like that,” Sherlock sneered. “Mothers are notorious for becoming attached to their own offspring before they’re even born.”

“I imagine these women are prepared to give the baby to the father. However, that’s not the only option. We could go to a clinic where carefully screened women have sold their eggs. We could pick someone that we find genetically suitable, fertilize the eggs, and then hire a surrogate to carry. It wouldn’t be her baby, so less chance of attachment.”

“Could we be guaranteed that the eggs you use would also be available two or three years later for me to fertilize?”

“Is that important?”

“Of course! Our children will be raised as siblings, they should actually be siblings. Plus, with the same mother they might have features in common. You and I look so different, they would never be recognized as being related.”

“Alright,” John sighed, looking over the website again. “It doesn’t have that kind of detail. We would have to set up an appointment and ask.”

“And the surrogate?”

“There’s a local agency. I’m afraid this isn’t ‘one-stop’ shopping.”

“Lovely,” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

\---------------

“Did you have to insult the fertility specialist?” John asked as they walked down the street heading to Bart’s.

“Specialist?” Sherlock asked in mock surprise. “I’m not sure that word applies. The woman was a moron!”

“Sherlock, she was just trying to help us pick the right ovum.”

“Their surveys were incomplete,” he continued to snipe. “Eye color, hair color, height, weight, medical history - what about her father’s occupation? Did her great grandmother have a criminal history?”

“Would that eliminate them?”

“Actually, I’d pay good money for them if that was so.”

John laughed and shook his head as he held the door to the morgue open for Sherlock. Sherlock swirled passed him with a smirk. Then stopped dead, blocking the room from John before turning around, grabbing John and moving him in front of him. When John saw what had stopped Sherlock, he understood his reaction.

“Sherlock, when you’re a father, you’re going to have to deal with situations like this on your own,” John sighed as he fully entered the room and gathered a weeping Molly into his arms. “Shhh, Molls, tell me what’s wrong. Maybe we can help.”

“Noooo,” she wailed, clutching to John’s shirt. “You can’t help with this.”

“Sherlock, get in here,” he called. “What is your problem? You didn’t have a problem when Mary cried on you. It’s ok, Molly,” John continued, turning back to her. “You can tell us anything. Talking about it may help even if there’s nothing we can do.”

Sherlock approached slowly and sat beside them on the floor, carefully placing a hand on Molly’s back.

“This is different,” he said softly, causing John to look back up at him. “This is Molly.”

John wasn’t sure how he felt about what he saw in Sherlock’s face, which was uncommonly open, but it made sense. John had read the journals and knew how Molly had helped him fake his death, knew how she had anchored him to his life while he was gone, knew what a confidant she had become. He realized then, that if Sherlock hadn’t loved him for so long that the detective could have fallen for Molly, maybe spent his life with her. John wasn’t sure, looking at how upset Sherlock was that Molly was clearly hurting, if the man hadn’t fallen for her anyhow. Was Sherlock in love with her? After John’s experience with Mary and Sherlock, he understood it was more than possible. The real question was, did Sherlock realize he loved her?

“I thought I was pregnant,” Molly finally elaborated once she had stopped crying enough to catch her breath. “But it was just a false alarm.”

“Oh, Molly, I’m sorry,” John sighed, rubbing her back. “Had you and Mark been trying long?”

“We weren’t trying. It was an accident. I missed my period and told him I wasn’t sure, but I could be. He completely freaked out! Ditched me and changed his number! Oh, John, we’ve been dating over a year. I thought we could get married and have kids someday, but clearly he never intended to go that far.”

“Well, you’re best rid of him,” Sherlock announced, rising to his feet. “Come on, you’ve a body I need to see. Mr. Witherspoon. It wasn’t a heart attack, I’m certain.”

“Sherlock, not now,” John chastised, still sitting on the floor.

“He was an ass,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Molly, you’re well rid of him. Life goes on. On your feet!”

“No, he’s right,” Molly huffed as she got to her feet. “It’s a good thing I found out during a false alarm than during the real thing. I wish I could just find one good man who wants to be a dad.”

“With your luck, Molly,” Sherlock smirked as he helped John to his feet, “you’ll manage to find two.”

\-----------------------

“Sherlock, what are you thinking?”

They had spent a bit over an hour at the morgue looking over the corpse and after a quick run back to the home of the deceased the case was solved and the son in law in custody. They had then met with Lestrade over another case he had for Sherlock and he managed to solve that one in record time. They had then picked up take away and were finally home at nearly ten at night.

“Thinking? Currently, I’m thinking Anderson’s an idiot, you’d look amazing in nothing but that cardigan Mrs. Hudson bought you for your birthday, and they better not have forgotten my shrimp egg roll. In the back processes of my mind…”

“In regards to Molly.”

“Oh. Let’s ask her to mother our children.”

“Just like that?”

“Why not?”

John shook his head with a little laugh.

“In some ways, Sherlock, you have changed a lot. In others, you’re just the same. She wants a relationship and she wants to be a mother, not incubate our offspring and hand them over.”

“Well, yes, if it’s Molly she can stay involved,” Sherlock waved him off. “It might be best to have a woman involved for the more maternal aspects, anyhow. It’s not as if either of us can actually be mothers.”

“Good, good, what about the relationship part?”

John wasn’t surprised that Sherlock took that moment to shove a bite of the egg roll they hadn’t forgotten into his mouth. He was surprised by the flush to his face. John pushed his food away and rubbed his temples.

“You can’t be serious. Sherlock, I’m not getting involved with another woman. I promised Mary.”

“I doubt she meant forever,” Sherlock countered.

“She meant for me to be with you, the other person I love, the very male other person I love. She never would have approved of whatever this is you’re suggesting.”

“How do you know?” the detective shot back. “It’s never come up, has it? And you admit you don’t know what I’m suggesting, so how could you really know without all the facts?”

“Are you suggesting that I get involved with Molly, but stay involved with you? That would never work. You’d be jealous, of me or her or both of us. And if you were to be involved with Molly and me… I don’t know, Sherlock. I have never believed in open relationships. I’d come to resent one or both of you.”

Sherlock slid closer to him and put his arm around his shoulders.

“I’m suggesting neither of those things,” he admitted softly, unable to meet John’s eyes. “Of course we would never have an open relationship. Our relationship will always be closed and it would only ever consist of you, me, and Molly.”

“A threesome?” John looked over at his lover, trying to make eye contact. “You mean you want a polyamorous relationship? Since when have you ever considered such a thing?”

“Actually, I thought about it after you got married,” Sherlock admitted, finally looking back at John. “I put that aside, though because I’ve never felt an attachment to Mary. After awhile, I thought maybe I could develop one, but she didn’t seem the type to agree. I didn’t dismiss the idea, however, until her illness was discovered and it became clear that she wasn’t going to recover. I pushed that idle thought aside and concentrated on you having as much time as possible with her.”

“I’ll never be able to express how grateful I am for everything you did for us,” John admitted, leaning into his friend. “But I don’t know about this. I admit, it does have it’s advantages. We could be a family. All of us. The children would know where they’re from, not wonder who the woman was who sold her eggs so we could be fathers. They could be raised by three loving parents. But can you imagine growing up like that? What would they tell their friends? What would we tell the schools? They’d be ‘those strange Holmes and Watson children.’ I don’t know, Sherlock. I need to think about it.”

“Of course,” he agreed, placing a kiss to John’s temple. He was sure he could convince him that this was the best possible solution.

\------------------

“Molly? Hello, it’s John Watson. I’m calling to invite you on a date…. No, no, Sherlock and I are fine. Actually I should have clarified, the date’s with me and Sherlock…. Yes, a real date. We’ll pick you up, go somewhere nice, order a bottle of wine, pick up the check, take you home, goodnight kisses all around if Sherlock and I have been gentlemen…. No, I’m not drunk…. No, Sherlock is not conducting an experiment….  Why did you ask if I was drunk first?  Nevermind.  Listen, Molly, I know this sounds crazy. It’s a bit complicated. How about we start out with coffee and Sherlock and I can explain what we’re thinking about and we can go from there…. I promise, this has nothing to do with pity, though I wish you’d have some pity for me and just say yes to the coffee!… Fine, perfect, we’ll meet you there.”

John ended the call and collapsed on the sofa.

“Get ready, we’re meeting for coffee in half an hour!” he called towards the bedroom. “And you’re explaining this to her.”

“Of course,” Sherlock agreed, walking out of their room impeccably dressed. “You had trouble getting her to understand the concept of going out on a simple date with the two of us, I clearly can’t trust you to explain a life partnership with us.”

“Great, let’s see how you handle this.”

\---------------------

“Bloody hell, Sherlock! She passed out!”

“Well, at least she understood.”


End file.
